


No good with words

by ChocoNut



Series: Many ways to say I love you [57]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Confession before the feast, Deviates after 8x3, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Season 8
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 09:38:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20256022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoNut/pseuds/ChocoNut
Summary: A proper conversation post the war and before the feast, where Jaime seeks out his wench and tries to pour his heart out to her. But awkward as he is with words, the conversation doesn't go as smoothly as he wants it to.





	No good with words

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing but tooth rotting fluff as I was in the mood for one. Do let me know if you liked it.

Hours had passed since they’d retired to the warmth of the castle, leaving the rows and rows of burning bodies to the mercy of the flames that slowly, but surely, began to consume them; they, who were men and women and children, not different from the others like him who’d been lucky to survive, they, who would soon be no more than a pile of ashes and bones, to mingle with the snow and be one with it, to be wiped out from the face of the world. 

Jaime sat alone, brooding, the odour of burning flesh that flooded his nostrils leaving him with emotions so mixed, that he felt his brain would explode. Sympathy, and grief, he felt for the ones who had fallen, despite having known barely a handful of them, relief that he’d been among the ones to be still standing, and something else. Something, he didn’t quite understand.

Something that involved the wench and the real reason he’d shown up North. 

Dusk would soon make its presence felt, but she hadn’t shown him her face yet, dissolving into the crowd and disappearing soon after the funeral was over, never giving him a chance to speak to her after they’d stood together against the dead.

_ What am I going to tell her? _

“I told you we’d prevail,” said a gloating voice beside him, diverting his attention from the conundrum he faced.

“Yes, you were right,” Jaime blandly agreed with his brother, his mind not quite in place for such a conversation.

“Jaime, look at me,” said Tyrion sharply, compelling him to shake himself out of his shell and pay heed to him. “Thinking about her, aren’t you?” Tyrion confronted him, the moment he’d secured his full attention.

Jaime blanched at being caught so easily. Were his emotions so plainly visible on his face? Nevertheless, he intended to play safe, to avoid this discussion with his brother who would get judgemental. “Who--”

“Stop pretending,” chided Tyrion, his intelligent eyes reading beyond Jaime’s false denial. “I’ve been noticing you ever since you’ve set foot here. You have eyes for none but her--”

“I don’t,” Jaime interrupted him, horrified that his brother would stop at nothing less than extracting a confession out of him.

“You love Ser Brienne,” Tyrion came to the point without mincing words. “Why don’t you admit it? Why don’t you tell her so?”

“I’m unsure about what she feels,” Jaime voiced his concern, this time not bothering to refute his brother’s claim. “She wasn’t even keen on a proper conversation with me,” he said, his mind going back to the way she’d walked away when he’d tried to speak to her at the training yard the previous day.

“She loves you.” Once again Tyrion sounded confident, his burst of enthusiasm filling Jaime with a rare ray of hope. “Talk to her right now, tell her before it’s too late--”

“What do you mean by too late?”

“If you delay any further, Tormund Giantsbane may get there before you,” Tyrion pointed out, hinting to Jaime that the annoyingly disgusting wildling existed and was vying for Brienne’s affections. “So unless you want to let go of her--”

Jaime rose, a stinging sensation of envy boiling within him. “No wildling will ever get close to her,” he assured himself, “not when I’m still alive.”

+++++

“Ser Jaime?”

Brienne’s tone was questioning, and her eyes wide with surprise, perhaps, to see him at her doorstep, when he’d mustered the nerve to seek her out in her chambers. 

“Can I come in?” he asked, hoping she wouldn’t turn him down or abandon their conversation mid-way like she’d done the last time.

She thought for a moment, and then stepped aside, a consent for him to enter. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” she inquired,after shutting the door behind him.

“Do I need a reason to come and talk to you?” His tone, to his dismay, was more caustic than he’d wanted to sound.

“What else could it be for, if not for a reason?” was her quiet reply.

“You never spoke to me after the war,” he complained. “You barely even looked at me once, and you’ve been hiding here since the funeral.”

“I--” She glanced at the floor, as if in search of a suitable response to his accusation. “I didn’t know what to speak to you about,” she said at last. “You’ve achieved what you came here for, so I thought--”

“--I’d leave?” he asked indignantly, appalled that a woman who’d placed such trust in him could think him to be so selfish.

She nodded, her voice oddly calm when she spoke, “You have no need to extend your stay here. Your purpose, the reason for your coming North has been fulfilled. It’s only fitting that you return to your family, your house, your sister who you’re loyal to--”

“Oh fuck loyalty!” he interjected, exasperation surging through every inch of him. “This goes beyond houses,” he fumed. “Didn’t you once make me realize that?” Recalling the conversation which marked the turning point of his life, the reason for the most important decision he’d taken since the slaying of Aerys Targaryen, he hoped she’d understand what he was driving at.

“I did,” she concurred, her eyes rising to meet his. “And you did forego your loyalty to define your priorities, to fight beside us, to--”

“You think that was the only reason I rode North?” he questioned, burning her with his angry gaze.

“What else could it be?” she asked again, unable to gauge his intent, infuriating him further.

“I came to Winterfell because--” he faltered again, words failing to catch up with the feelings within him.

_ Damn my tongue, it always lets me down when I need it the most. _

“--you’re a knight,” she continued on his behalf. “You came here to fulfill your vows, to protect the innocent, to fight--”

“Oh, you’re as naive as ever,” he shouted, seething with frustration and helplessness that he couldn’t find the right words to express himself, “stubborn as a mule, refusing to see the obvious.” A horrible doubt crossed his mind. “Or is it Tormund Giantsbane?” he continued in the same raised voice, blinded by jealousy, “I’ve seen the way he looks at you--”

“I have no interest in him,” she retorted.

_ Thank the gods, _he almost sighed in relief.

“Maybe I am naive,” she went on defensively, miffed by his outburst. “But I was right earlier. Here you are, back to insulting me as usual, the Ser Jaime Lannister I’ve known from the beginning.” Her eyes full of hurt, she retreated to the depths of her room and settled herself on the bed, an indication that it was time for him to leave.

_ Fuck, I’ve upset her, _he cursed himself, wondering how he could make amends for his unpardonable choice of words again.

Tempted, though he was, for a second to turn tail and leave, he set aside his fears and inhibitions and followed her. When he’d summoned the courage to sit down beside her, he noticed the numerous scars she’d earned overnight, the one under her left eye seemingly the nastiest. His gaze wandering along her body, he peered through the gap in her shirt, his eyes settling on the familiar wounds on her neck, the ones that marked the beginning of the strange, yet strong bond they now shared.

“I’m sorry,” he softly apologized, meaning it from the depths of his heart. “That was unworthy, and it certainly wasn’t what I had intended to convey.”

When she said nothing, her attention fixed on the bed, he reached for the scars on her neck, and he could feel her draw in a sharp breath and wince slightly when his fingers brushed against it. “Does it still hurt?” he inquired, his mind flying to the day she’d been gifted with it. 

“At times. One of the wights made sure I was reminded of it again.” Her voice was barely a whisper, and when her eyes leapt up to seek his, he found questions in them, questions he hoped she would ask, and he could provide answers to.

“Gods, I wish I could kiss away your wounds!” he exclaimed in a fit of passion and helplessness, speaking his mind out aloud and realizing it only after he’d heard himself. “I--I mean--” he spluttered, when her eyebrows shot up and she stared at him in shock. “I mean, I wish I could do something to alleviate your pain.”

The wench blushed a bright pink, leaving him nursing a fiercely fluttering heart and the mounting nervousness within him. “It’ll be gone in a few days,” she said dismissively.

“It was my fault,” he remembered, reluctant to take his fingers off her warm skin. 

Brienne looked puzzled. “How so? I fought the bear, and it was because of that--”

Jaime gently caressed her neck, and this time she didn’t flinch, her breathing getting heavier by the second. “Had I insisted on taking you with me that day, this would never have happened,” he told her, till today, regretting his decision to leave her behind with Locke and his thugs.

“You couldn’t have,” she replied. “Had you tried any such thing, you wouldn’t have left Harrenhal alive. As for me, my life was expendable, it didn’t matter if I lived or died--”

“It did matter to me,” he was quick to counter her stupid belief, “that day, and last night, when we stood before the dead with no certainty of waking up this morning. I wish I could’ve done something to prevent the torture you had to endure at Harrenhal. I wish I could’ve put my foot down, refusing to leave without you.”

A faint smile graced her lips. “But you returned,” she said, her voice unnaturally breathy. “You put yourself before me, ready to face death--”

“The things I do for love...” he trailed away wistfully, lost in her gaze.

Brienne’s eyes widened and her lips parted slightly in surprise. “What--”

Deciding not to seek the comfort of an escape route from his inadvertent words that mirrored his feelings, he was determined to face his heart this time. He let his fingers slide down her arm until they met hers. “You do know why I came to Winterfell, don’t you?” The odd obstruction in his throat did its best to prevent him from speaking, but stubborn this time to vanquish his apprehensions, he made up his mind that he wouldn’t leave her room until he’d put this niggling matter to rest one way or the other. “The reason for my return was the same both times,” he admitted with a sigh, threading his fingers in hers. “Both at Harrenhal, and now. I didn’t realize it then, my head clogged with mindless love for Cersei, nor did I, when you had lashed out at me in the Dragonpit, knocking sense back into my head.”

“I did what was required for the realm. I told you all that because I was there to seek your assistance to help us fight this war, not because I wanted you--” The words suddenly died on her lips, and she dropped her gaze, her cheeks as red as the setting sun.

For the first time since the horn had been sounded, Jaime allowed himself to smile. “You wanted me?” he repeated, wanting to be doubly sure of what he’d heard.

She hummed in affirmation, still hesitant to allow him a glimpse of those lovely eyes. Shifting closer, he raised her chin, unwilling to be denied the sweet agony of drowning in the depths of those mesmerizing pools. Before he could lose track of himself or blurt out irrelevant nonsense again, he kissed her. He had intended it as a soft confirmation of his affection for her, the lightest brush of his lips on hers, but before he could gather himself, he lost control, devouring her like a dying man gasping for air. Her chapped, yet supple lips melted into his as their mouths became one, their tongues engaging in a game so pleasurable that it was impossible for him to let go.

But let go he did, albeit reluctantly, only because his lungs were crying out to him in desperate need for air. “Ser Brienne of Tarth,” he panted, his lips still touching hers, “I may be an idiot who is no good with words, but it has never been my intention to insult you. Not tonight, and perhaps, not even the night I first met you,” he confessed, remembering how he’d tried to repel her as a solution to the growing conflict within him. “I may have been thoughtless, for I’d jumped into a pit, unarmed and one-handed with no means to fight the beast that could’ve claimed both our lives, but whatever I did, I did it for you, and I’d do it again, if it came to that.”

She smiled, her proximity filling him with warmth that would keep him comfortable for a thousand winters to come. “Jaime--”

In no mood to stop now that he’d started, Jaime went on, the sound of his name on her lips - just his name without his title overwhelming him beyond his imagination and encouraging him to bare his soul to her. “I may not have pledged myself to your queen, I may have no respect nor loyalty towards her, but that didn’t stop me from fighting on her side. And that’s only because of _ you _,” he confessed, his voice breaking. “I came here for you, because I wanted to die in your arms, my lady. Had last night been my last in this world, I’d have died a happy man, by your side, holding your hand--”

“Stop it, will you?” she intervened, her eyes shining. “The war’s over, and we’ve both survived, so let’s not talk about death anymore.”

Jaime pulled her into an embrace, wanting to tell her at last. “I’ve never fallen for a knight before,” was unfortunately the only thing he could manage.

A playful smile danced on her lips. “Are you telling me that you love me, Ser Jaime?”

“I’m terrible at expressing my feelings--”

She kissed him this time, a lingering tender kiss, one that burned through him, knocking the air out of his lungs. “Who says you’re awful with words?” she softly refuted his claim, fighting for breath when they’d pulled apart. “You’re quite brilliant, and that was an absolutely beautiful proclamation of love, far better than the ones in my fantasies.”

“You’ve fantasized about me?”

The question left her flustered once again. “Well, yes,” she admitted, shyly biting her lip, “I’ve dreamed of you more than once.”

_ So have I, _he thought, recalling those sleepless nights he’d spent on his journey North, with nothing, and no one, but the wench consuming every second of his conscious and subconscious mind. “Will you be mine, my lady?” he summoned the courage to ask her. “Will you--”

They were rudely interrupted by a knock on the door, and Brienne extricated herself from his arms and made her way to the door. “That must be Pod. I almost forgot, it’s time for the feast.”

“You haven’t answered me yet,” he said, uncertainty once again gripping him.

“We’ll talk tonight after the feast,” she said, without looking at him, “once all interruptions are done and over with.”

Jaime still wanted a confirmation, for he wasn’t in a mood to engage in a game of words. “I'm not leaving without an answer. Is that a yes? Will you marry me?”

Stopping just short of the door, Brienne spun around. “If you’ll have me,” she teased, a demure smile lighting up her face as she mimicked the words he’d said long back. 


End file.
